


What Fear Sounds Like

by helens78



Series: Sense of Fear [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Gangbang, Multi, Violence, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-21
Updated: 2005-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course Jonny's afraid.  Who wouldn't be afraid when he gets jumped by three jocks on his way home from work?  The problem with Jonny is he's got this fascination with fear...</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Fear Sounds Like

Jonny's breathing is twice as fast as it should be. His heart's pounding. His whole life hasn't flashed before his eyes, but only because it wouldn't make much of an epitaph.

It's not what they're going to do to him that scares him. He knows he can take it. It's the suddenness, the cold flash of steel against his throat, the way he can't see clearly with his glasses off, and the fact that he doesn't know when this is going to end.

The hot breath panting in his ear has a cigarette stink to it, which means the first guy of the night is Chris. Chris is the only one of the jocks stupid enough to smoke. Maybe he'll die of a heart attack on the football field someday. Jonny can always hope.

Concentrating on Chris's breath doesn't keep Jonny's mind off the pain in his ass for very long, though. Little mental images of Chris having a sudden, mysterious, ugly death don't help, either. He closes his eyes, tries to steady his breathing as he waits it out.

Thankfully, it doesn't take long. Chris finishes and shoves him down; he hits the hood of his cheap little Taurus and has a few seconds to breathe and recover before there's a fist in his hair. They pull him up, off the metal and onto his knees. He doesn't cry out -- they hurt him more when he cries out -- but his knees are going to ache, and he feels like he just lost a chunk of hair. He wishes, sometimes, that these guys had more finesse.

For a few seconds he just concentrates on looking around, finding something to stare at while the next one decides what he's going to do. His glasses are just behind his left front tire. Good. Pretty much out of the way there; as long as he remembers to pick them up before driving home, he'll be fine.

"Oo, watch out, remember, he bites--"

That explains that; somebody's going to want a blowjob. _God, I hope it's Aaron. At least Aaron bathes daily..._

"Nah, he's not going to bite this time. Are you?" That _is_ Aaron, and Jonny almost sighs with relief. The mental sigh dies off in a hurry, though, when Aaron takes the knife from Chris and drags it down Jonny's cheek. Aaron twists the knife's point, making it dance just under Jonny's left eye. "You're gonna be a good little fag and suck it, aren't you?"

Jonny doesn't answer. Answering doesn't matter in the game, so he doesn't bother.

"Good boy," Aaron says, and then over Jonny's head, "Hold him." He gives Jonny a little shove, and suddenly there's a different hand gripping his hair and somebody behind him holding his wrists. Chris and someone else; he hasn't spoken, so Jonny doesn't know who yet. Just three. It's been better; it's been worse.

His breathing's more or less evened out, and his heartbeat's not too fast anymore. The rush of adrenaline's still there, but it's not bothering him with any inconvenient fight-or-flight urges. It has, however, left him with a hard-on, which he's hoping nobody notices. His jeans are still bunched up around his thighs, but his cock's buried under folds of fabric. Good. Maybe it'll stay that way.

Aaron holds the blade just under Jonny's jaw as he shoves his dick into Jonny's mouth. Jonny only gags a little this time, and he doesn't have to move or think; the hand on his hair shoves him forward while Aaron rocks in, setting up a rhythm that's harsh and cruel and regular enough for Jonny to just ignore it, disappear into the back of his mind and ignore what's happening to him.

That doesn't last long, because Aaron doesn't last long; Aaron may be big and he may talk like he knows what he's doing, but he's only 17. He shoves in one last time and comes, spunk hitting the back of Jonny's throat and making him gag harder.

Jonny coughs when Aaron pulls out, and the hand in his hair lets go so he can choke and cough and spit Aaron's come onto the pavement.

Mistake. Aaron gives him a couple of hard slaps, one-two, for the insult.

"What's the matter, fag? My come's not good enough for you?" Another slap. "You don't mind sucking your queer boyfriend's dick, but you spit my come out onto the ground?" Aaron looks over Jonny's head. "Make him lick it up."

_Shit._ He gets shoved down, face pressed into the pavement. It'll scrape. Thank God they knocked his glasses off earlier; this would scratch the hell out of them, and he can't afford new ones right now. His cheek's just skin. It'll mend.

"Lick. It. Up."

Aaron's saying it like he means it, and Jonny doesn't want to get knocked around any more, so he drags his tongue across the pavement. The other boys laugh. Jonny's not surprised. Just one more. One more and they'll let him go. One more and he can go home.

The last one pushes his legs apart while he's there on the ground, licking cooling come and spit off the pavement, and he's relieved more than anything. His breathing's picking up again with the realization that it's almost over. The one holding his wrists lets him go, and he braces his forearms on the ground. If the guy behind him's rough, he'll have scraped and bruised forearms by the time he's done, but it's better than letting his face get fucked into the asphalt.

He rests his forehead on his arms and tries to relax. _Relax. Relax. It hurts more when you tense._

Nothing happens.

Jonny wants to know what's going on behind him, but he doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to see their faces, not really; he just wants them to finish and let him go. It's not the first time some of the guys at school have grabbed him after he locks up at the coffeshop, and it's not going to be the last -- that's the problem with having an after-school job in the Narrows. Nobody's going to care if he screams.

Wondering is worse than getting fucked again. _What's he doing? Why isn't he getting started? What the fuck is he waiting for?_

Then the tip of Aaron's knife trails down his back, over his t-shirt to where the skin's exposed, and it goes lower, and lower, and -- _oh fuck, don't jump, don't move_ \-- down his crack, dragging up and down slowly between his asshole and his balls.

The fear's back, and it tastes like copper in the back of his mouth. It stings. Every breath he takes feels cold rushing past his lips, and the only reason he's not shaking is because the mantra in his head is _don't move don't move don't move_, and he's listening to it.

"I'd do it," the guy behind him says (_who are you don't recognize your voice you fucking bastard oh God please don't please don't_), "but I don't want him bleeding all over my dick."

And when he takes the knife away and shoves his cock in, the relief's so deep it makes Jonny cry out.

It's not a scared sound. All three of these boys know what fear sounds like, and they know that isn't it.

There's some laughter, and as the guy behind him gets started, someone reaches around and jerks Jonny's jeans down, clutching at his cock when he finds it. He squeezes hard, and Jonny moans; he's hard, and the relief from not getting fucked with a knife has all his wires tripping the wrong way. This isn't supposed to feel _good_. There've been times it didn't hurt enough to bother him the next day, but it's never supposed to feel _good_.

But it does. The cock in his ass and the hand on his dick and Jonny's moaning, biting both lips hard trying to hold the sounds back. _In traumatic situations the absence of expected pain can affect the mind the same way pleasure would,_ he thinks, and he knows it's true, but it feels like an excuse. The pleasure doesn't feel forced when the guy behind him holds onto his hips and gives it to him easy; it doesn't feel fake when the hand on his cock jerks him off nice and slow.

Jonny digs his teeth into his arm, stifling as many groans as he can, but he can't stifle it when he comes all over his clothes and the pavement and the guy's hand, and he can't keep himself from flushing red when the guy behind him finishes and pulls out and everyone laughs.

"He _likes_ it. Maybe we should do this more often," says the guy who's now dragging his hand out from under Jonny's stomach, reaching up to wipe the come off on Jonny's sleeve. Aaron again.

"Well, he _is_ a cheap date." That's Chris. "But don't get too crazy about it. Next thing you know you'll be sucking dick in the cheap seats at the theater just like Jonny boy." He makes an obscene slurping noise, then kicks Jonny hard in the ribs. Jonny's almost happy for that. That's pain again, and it's familiar and uncomplicated.

"No way, man, sick." Zippers pull up and footsteps start marking a path away. "Bet he's counting the days until we come back for him, though..."

More laughter, and Jonny stays still, clenching his hands hard and trying to breathe steady again. This is when it all comes crashing down -- the self-loathing, the questions about what he could have done differently, the drained feel of adrenaline wearing off. It's all normal. There's nothing he should be ashamed of.

It doesn't help this time. He struggles to get his clothes back into order, wincing as he puts his cock away -- it's still sensitive from coming -- and rubbing bits of dirt and gravel off his cheeks before getting his glasses back on. He gets his car unlocked and climbs in, locking the doors after him and dropping his head back against the headrest.

A few minutes and he'll be ready to go home. Just a few minutes.

_-end-_


End file.
